Johnny Podres died last Sunday, January 13, 2008, at 75 years of age. Johnny was another one of the Boys of Summer, the great Dodger players of the 1950’s while the team was still in Brooklyn. As a boy who grew up in Brooklyn in the 1950’s, I idolized the Boys of Summer. Johnny was not one of the more prominent Dodgers in the 1950’s, having only joined the team as a youngster in 1953. But no Brooklyn Dodger fan from the 1950’s will ever forget him as the pitcher who won the 7th game and brought the Dodgers their first and only World Series championship in the 1955 World Series against the New York Yankees, our hated nemeses. I was 12 years old at the time but I've never forgotten the incredible excitement of that day.
The Dodgers were an enormous part of my life during the 1950’s and contributed to some of my most emotional experiences. I can still vividly recall in my mind’s eye Bobby Thomson’s historic home run in the 1951 playoff series between the New York Giants and the Dodgers. I had been watching the game on local television and was devastated by the event. Several years later, after the Dodgers lost a regular season game to the Giants, I was so upset that I walked downstairs from our second floor duplex and opened the front door, oblivious to the fact that my parakeet had perched, as she often did, on my shoulder. She flew away, never to be found. Then there were the unforgiveable acts of Walter O’Malley, first in trading our beloved Jackie Robinson to the despised New York Giants, and then in moving our team from Brooklyn at the end of the 1957 season. As a 14 year old, I was in shock that our team, such a central part of our identities as Brooklynites, would be gone forever. Amidst these traumas, thank goodness Johnny Podres brought me and all Dodger fans in Brooklyn joy in 1955 with his victory in the 7th game of the World Series.
Johnny Podres, thanks for playing such an important part in my coming of age in the 1950’s. I didn’t follow your career after the Dodgers left Brooklyn but in reading the obituaries this last week I’ve come to appreciate you even more as a human being, sharing your love and talent with other players and human beings in your well-lived life. May God bless you.
Addendum
When Pee Wee Reese died in 1999, I posted some reflections on an AOL bulletin board on August 18, 1999. I am including them here:
It is heartening to read so many testimonials to Pee Wee Reese from baseball fans across the nation, but especially from those who grew up with the Boys of Summer in Brooklyn, New York.
I recall my first visit to Ebbets Field in the early 1950's, before I was ten years old. Andy Pafko hit a home run to decide the game.
And those days after the game waiting around the clubhouse exit to catch a glimpse of the players. Heck, Roy Campanella once stepped on my brother's foot! Such memories do we retain.
And of course Carl Furillo's arm. Throwing out opposing players who had the temerity to challenge him. And Leo Durocher stepping on Carl's hand near the end of one season, guaranteeing Furillo the batting championship.
And then there was Jackie. I can still picture him taking a daring lead off of first base, his hands swaying as he leaned over, ready to dash to second base at the slightest hesitation by the pitcher, or even absent hesitation.
And those double steals. Yes, Pee Wee on second, Robinson on first. And suddenly they bolted. The catcher caught not knowing what to do. Throw to third? Throw to second? Both safe!
Yes, I was a devoted fan of the Boys of Summer. Gil Hodges, that gentle giant. Yes, he was stronger than all the others, or so we believed. But, unlike some, he would never instigate a fight. He wasn't an enforcer either. His presence preserved the peace.
Preacher Roe, who was fantastic on the mound and then admitted after retiring that, yes, perhaps he occasionally threw a spitball!
And Joe Black, the one remarkable season coming in from the bullpen, mowing down opposing players and preserving victory for Dem Bums.
Duke Snider, with that Perfect Swing, arching balls over the wall into Bedford Avenue. Such a graceful swing. The heck with Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays. We had The Duke!
Carl Erskine, with that amazing overhand pitch. Not three quarters but fully overhand. What accuracy; what stamina; what patience; what skill.
And so many others. Newcombe, Gilliam, Billy Cox, Sandy Amoros, Billy Loes, Johnny Podres, Karl Spooner, Sandy Koufax (although a wild thrower until Los Angeles), Labine, Craig, Alston....
And of course THE CAPTAIN, Pee Wee Reese. The sparkplug, the leader, Our finest shortstop. Oh, Phil Rizzuto was talented and Alvin Dark could hit. But Pee Wee was IT. He sparked the team, he picked it up, he led by example.
I was too young to appreciate all that happened in the early 50's. Of course I knew of Robinson's talent and guts and we could see Reese's friendship toward Jackie, and all of his teammates. It wasn't until I grew older, and my Dodgers departed Brooklyn, that I fully appreciated Pee Wee's contributions off the field.
I miss Pee Wee and the entire team. They were my youth. They captured Brooklyn's love. Perhaps only one World Series Championship, but we never doubted the talent and grace of our team, and Pee Wee Reese exemplified it.
I grew up and migrated to Los Angeles in the late 1960's. As I drove across the Mohave I caught a Dodger game on the radio. And there was the wonderful voice of Vin Scully, who, along with Red Barber and Connie Desmond, brought us the Dodger games not only on the radio but on Channel 9 on television. I felt like I was being welcomed by a friend.
Thinking of the Boys of Summer always brings back wonderful memories of Ebbets Field, Brooklyn, my childhood, and the individual players on those great teams.
Pee Wee, thanks for those memorable moments back then, and all the memories I've enjoyed since then. May God Bless You, Pee Wee Reese.⌂
